Yes, I am aware that technically, you are 11 years younger than me and that an entire decade ago I was 34 which sounds fabulously young, but, the weight you carried, the worry that creased your brow 24/7 (thanks by the way for the giant brow wrinkle/frown line The New Me currently is sporting) made you old before your time. The Old Me, if only you knew then, what The New Me knows now, I could have saved you many sleepless nights and The New Me hundreds of dollars in Botox Treatments.

You know, The Old Me, all your researching, all your web surfing, all your expert advice seeking, and all that label shopping, in the end, only made your brow line/frown line deeper (again, I thank you). I wish you would have turned off your brain and just listened to your heart, like The New Me tries so hard to do today. You see, The Old Me, no matter what you read, no matter what you heard, and no matter what "they" said, your heart always knew, your heart always told you, "He will be ok". Yet, like most mothers who first hear The A Word, fear takes over the brain and completely stifles the message coming loud and clear from the heart.

On the days his screaming deafened you, unaware that even the slightest bump could feel like an electric shock rippling through your boy's nervous system, I could have told you, "He will be ok.". During the horrendous years of potty training where it felt like all you did was hang out in the bathroom while you begged, bribed and threatened only to throw one more pair of Buzz Lightyear underpants in the garbage (money that could have easily gone toward filling that frown line), I could have told you, "He won't go to school in a pull up.". When his overloaded sensory system had reached the breaking point and caused inexplicable meltdowns from such minor events, such as skipping an aisle in the grocery store and putting on new sandals, moments that not only freaked you out that something was "wrong", but, that ripped your heart out because you didn't know how to help him, I could have told you, "One day he will find and use his words to help you understand."

The New Me, wishes I could have held your hand as you sat alone with tears streaming down your face in the daycare parking lot as you watched all the "normal" kids playing, running, and talking while you silently prayed that today would be the day you wouldn't find him alone under the slide. I wish I could have comforted you as you cried yourself to sleep wondering "Will he go to school?", "Will he ever have a friend?", "Will he ever hug me back?", and the one that kept you up night after night,"Will he ever know how deep my love for him goes?".

I'm so sorry The Old Me, I wish I could have warned you how detrimental socializing with Denial, Clueless, and Guilt, were and how although at the time those wenches helped you cope, in the end, all they were ever going to do was hurt you. I wish I could have pulled you away from their negative influence and introduced you to Acceptance, Awareness, and Different, Not Less, because as The New Me knows, they are much better friends to have around and would have gotten you through those harder days without quite so much wine and quite so many tissues.

I could have told you The Old Me, but, you wouldn't have listened. You needed to see it, feel it, and live it for yourself. Yes, maybe knowing then would have made life easier, but, would it have made now any better? Would you have appreciated all the gains, all the progress, all the joy if you knew what was to come? Would you have pushed him, pulled him, fought him, and made him uncomfortable in the end if you knew he would be ok? Would you have worked so hard to prove your love if you knew he was always aware of your love, and that he loved you all along? Warning you about Denial, Clueless and Guilt would have gotten you nowhere, because at the time, you needed them. They were the friends that made you recognize later how much better life was without them and how friends like Acceptance, Awareness, and Different, Not Less allowed you to see the beautiful boy that was standing right before you.

So yes, The Old Me, I could have saved us hundreds of dollars in Botox and wine, if I would have just said, "listen to your heart", but, you had to hear your heart without me, you had to hear your heart when you were ready. You had to watch him struggle to see him shine. You had to feel the pain to experience the joy. You had to doubt before you could believe. You had to hang with Denial before befriending Acceptance. You had to see him and not see autism. And as painful as those years were then, you had to live them to get you where you are now.

You know what's funny, The Old Me? Ten years from now, The New Me, will be The Old Me because I will never stop growing, learning, and loving this AWEsome boy. The one thing that won't change in ten, twenty, or even thirty years is, that my heart now guides me instead of my fear induced brain. Yeah, sure, I still worry from time to time, but, my heart is no longer silenced by fear. I hear my heart loud and clear when it tells me to stop eating a sleeve of Girl Scout Thin Mints in one sitting and when it whispers,"I don't think doctors meant THAT much red wine is good for your heart (shut up heart)", but, the message I hear the loudest, what no fear can ever hush, is "Never, stop believing in him, he is going to be ok.".

My biggest regret for you, The Old Me, is that I really wish you would have heard that too.

Well, it's been one week. Have you rushed out to get the iPhone 6? Were you standing in line so you could, as my husband likes to put it, be the first to "stick your head in the oven because everyone else does"? I was not standing in line, even though I wanted to be....even though my contract was up over 8 months ago....even though I am more than ready for an upgrade, but, with a husband like that, I couldn't be the first to put my head in the oven, because I hate to prove my husband right. In fact, AWEnestly, I love to prove him wrong.

So, here I sit, blogging on my iPhone 4s dinosaur, trying to act like it's no biggie that it takes 90 seconds for Facebook to open up, or that my battery lasts approximately 45 minutes before I have to run to an outlet somewhere, trying to act like I don't care what "everyone else is doing". Just an FYI, I'm secretly dying to be like all the other people out there baking their head, impatiently waiting to stick my head right alongside their head in the iPhone 6 oven, assuming the oven is big enough and the temperature is set to low. And I don't even care if the new, problematic iOS8 keeps me from making a call on my "phone" or if I keep my new iPhone 6 in my pocket too long and it bends like a pretzel, it's still an iPhone, right?

If I'm AWEnest, part of my love affair with Steve Jobs and all things Apple is indeed, because "everyone's doing it", but, I truly do love and bow to all things "i" because for someone who is as technologically savvy as the Anti-Steve Jobs, "i" devices are simple and easy. I love my iPhone, iPad and I just recently started a romance with my MacBook Air. So as much as I have a love-hate relationship with my antiquated iPhone 4s, I still love it when my old dinosaur outsmarts Dan's Samsung. "Oh yes, it's quite easy for me to upload this video of our dog chasing his tail to Vine. Your Samsung can't do that?", I ask innocently while gloating inside.

Like any good mother, I want my kids to put their heads in the oven with me so they can be on my side, not Dad's side. (The oven would be on very, very low and everyone would have their heads wrapped in oven mitts). This is why Kyle has an iPhone, Emma has an iPad Mini, Ryan has an iPod Touch and just last month, when Ryan turned 13, he became an official put your head in the oven, iPhone user. Well, maybe "user" isn't the correct word, more like an iPhone "owner", or iPhone "shelf decorator" (that's two words), since Ryan's iPhone has seen little to no use, besides that first day when I forced his head into the oven with mine.

As parents, it is our job to lead our children safely into the age of technology, making them choose the technological path that is right for them without trying to sway them too much to "our side". This is true for most things in the parenting department. Whether it's smart phones, religion, college selection or dating prospects, we parents are suppose to guide, not choose. For example, the main character in the book, "Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret." , Margaret is trying to figure out which religion she belongs to since her mother's family is Christian and her father's family is Jewish. With both families trying to convince Margaret where she belongs, trying to pull her to their "side", Margaret turns to God while trying to figure out her own choices and not letting family influence her.

Clearly, Dan believes I am trying to force Ryan into believing in the Apple Gods which is why it made perfect sense that I would jump on the iPhone 5c as the ideal 13th birthday gift for Ryan. However, if I'm being AWEnest, it wasn't so much my belief in Steve Jobs that caused me to push Ryan's head in the oven with mine as much as it was my desire to have Ryan "be like everyone else'. It seems that just when I think I have removed Denial from my Favorites on my iPhone, I find myself calling her again and again, "Are you there Denial? It's me, Kate."

Unfortunately, no matter how many iPhone upgrades I get, how many iOS operating systems I download, or how many factory resets I do, Denial always remain somewhere in the vastness of the iCloud, always at my disposal, waiting for my call. Regardless of how far down on my Favorites Denial goes, no matter how many times I have deleted her contact information, thanks to the Cloud, Denial is always there, ready to answer my call when I get caught up in the "everyone is doing it" mindset that so often does not apply to my son.

Denial assured me that with this new iPhone, Ryan would become more social. After all, it's easier to socialize via texts, tweets, and posts. Yet Ryan's iPhone has remained on his dresser for most of a month, with Siri begging for something to do. The iPod Touch, is still Ryan's go to, the iPhone, which "every kid" would love to have, sits on his dresser collecting dust. It didn't help that the original iPhone 5c we bought Ryan had a glitch and it deleted all of Ryan's overpriced data in 48 hours and put the fear of God and Verizon Overage Charges in my boy's psyche, but, mostly, I believe the reason Ryan's iPhone has become a dust collector is because Ryan is more like his dad, not quite ready to stick his head in the oven just because everyone else is doing it, or because good old mom had Siri ring up Denial for me....again.

Needless to say, when you aren't sure how the oven works, or how other people hanging out in the oven with you may respond to your new found place in the oven, it's easy to understand the fear of being burnt. Taking social risks for Ryan, whether it's in the school lunchroom or via a text in the privacy and safety of his bedroom, is scary. Ryan wants his response to be cool, to be "right", to be perfect. Rather than risk getting burnt, much to my dismay, Ryan has decided to keep the oven off and now it's Dan's turn to gloat.

I know it makes perfect sense that I want Ryan to text, tweet, post, and snap like all the other kids his age. And even when Ryan's words, "you know I'm not a real social guy" rang in my head at the Verizon store, I believed in my heart, that the magic of Apple would change all of that, or at the very least, I believed being social on social media, might come more easily for Ryan than being social face to face. Denial tweeted that she believed it too, #letsgetsocial, so of course I proudly retweeted it, right from Ryan's new, white iPhone 5c (that is costing us $50 a month to collect dust).

When I either intentionally call or butt dial Denial, Denial usually steers me in the wrong direction, because Denial tends to see the world more through my eyes rather than through Ryan's eyes. This time though, I believe that the joy Ryan felt when he opened his new iPhone is truly how he feels in his heart and on his birthday, in that moment, there was no denying Ryan's joy when he opened that iPhone. Denial may have caused me to turn the oven on a little too soon, but, I think in time, Ryan may actually love the oven (sorry Dad) and in time he may just retweet Denial's #letsgetsocial. Just like so many developmental milestones with Ryan, all things eventually come to him, it just takes a little longer for him to catch on to the notion that "everyone is doing it" whether that's walking, talking, texting or tweeting.

Will Ryan become a social media extraordinaire or the next YouTube sensation? Will Ryan's iPhoto be as filled with selfies and photos of friends as his big brother Kyle or his aging, still trying to be cool, mother? I doubt it, but, I do believe in time, Ryan will feel comfortable texting and posting his latest Minecraft zombie kill on Instagram. Ryan once told me being social is difficult because "it's hard to think fast", and the magic of Apple, Samsung, and Droid is that no matter which oven you decide to stick your head into, you can ignore, delete, silence or have Siri respond for you, after you have had time to "think" and formulate a response. Maybe it's still Denial talking, but, I believe socializing on social media will open, or at the very least crack, the oven door a little wider in all things social for Ryan, regardless of which oven he chooses.

Just like Margaret had to figure out who she was on her own regardless of the influences of family, peers, and the pressure of growing up, Ryan will find his place regardless of the influence of his dad, his mom, or his mom's BFF, Denial. Whether it's smart phones, religion, school socials, proms, or career choices, Ryan will need our guidance, but, ultimately Ryan will choose. Perhaps Ryan will stick his head in the "everybody's doing it" oven with me, the non-conformist oven with his father, or his very own, yet to be determined, oven.

Regardless of which oven Ryan chooses, he will figure it out his way, in his own time. I just hope that whatever path Ryan embarks upon, he will take loads of photos that he can share with me in iPhoto, send me tons of iMessages to fill me in on what he's up to, and FaceTime me regularly to let me know where he is heading next, so that I can proudly tweet, text, and post from my latest, greatest iPhone, assuming, that I can get my head out of the oven in order to do so.

As a mother, after your baby is born and you get over the whole, "OMG I am responsible for taking care of this squirming, squishy, helpless creature", whose only form of communicating his or her needs and wants is via a banshee type cry, it doesn't take long for your maternal instincts to kick in and you quickly learn how to decipher one banshee wail from the next. It's funny how the cries of a child vary from situation to situation and how quickly we moms figure out which cry you need to run to with a bucket, a band aid, or a kiss.

There is the "Feed me now I don't care if it's 3AM cry". The "How many more episodes of Friends are you going to watch before you change my big, puffy, soggy diaper?" cry. The "I'm never going to nap, no matter how long you hold out so just get in here and pick me up because you know you are going to pick me up anyway" cry. And of course, a personal favorite of mine, the "Oops Mommy forgot the baby's head sticks out farther than Mommy's elbow and when Mommy walks through the door she whacks baby's head on the door frame." cry. Even as our babies get bigger and are able to communicate with more than a cry, a wail or a scream, the cry is still what gets our attention. The cry calls moms to action. And as crying experts, regardless of the age of our child, we moms are still able to differentiate the cry of fear, hurt, heartache, stress, and anger.

A "big brother who just ran over little sister's favorite, can't live without it, Cinderella doll with his Tonka truck" cry, is very discernible from "brother just pinched little sister because he likes to watch her get what she has coming to her" cry. A "someone finished the Pringles and left the empty container in the pantry" cry is much different than an "I got tearless, burnless shampoo (doesn't exist) in my eye" cry.

Yes, we moms know the wail of a skinned knee, the crocodile tears of a broken heart, the stifled, hiding the face in a couch pillow sob of a Disney movie death (AWEnestly, someone always dies and 9 chances out of 10, it's the mother), and the terrified scream of a nightmare. We know when mommy's kiss will make it all better or when more extreme measures are necessary. Maybe it comes with years of training our ear to hear a cry that signals a real emergency so we don't have to pause the DVR during the season finale of Downton Abbey, or maybe it's just that moms have a direct line from our child's heart to our own. We feel their needs, so we know when and how to respond. Whatever the reason, a child's cry is mom's signal that help is wanted or needed, and so, we act.

But what if there are no cries, no wails, no screams, or no tears? What if a child suffers quietly, alone and in silence? How then does a mother discern the kind of pain, the degree of pain and the right treatment of the pain if she is completely unaware the pain even exists? How do you kiss it and make it better when "it" is completely unknown?

When Ryan was little, I use to worry that he had some freakishly high threshold of pain. I'd put him in the tubby in what felt like "just right" tubby water only to discover he was firetruck red from the waist down with not so much as a peep out of him. Then as Ryan got older, I believed his threshold for pain was so low that I wondered if he had some type of neurological problem. A tiny little bump to his finger or toe would elicit blood curdling screams of what he believed was certain impending amputation. Then once I knew, once we heard The A Word, than I realized that Ryan's pain level may vary somewhat due to his overtaxed sensory system, but, for the most part, Ryan's level of pain isn't much different than yours or mine, but, how Ryan expresses his pain, or doesn't express his pain, is what varies from you or me.

Just this week I found out that for Ryan, some boo boos are too ouchy to cry about. Some pain is too difficult to share, so the hurt is hidden, buried away, and the pain does not illicit a cry, a scream or a tear. Some hurts remain hidden behind a veil of silence until one day, a simple English assignment pulls the veil away.

Ryan had to do a writing assignment about himself. Some of his major accomplishments, things he enjoys, as well as writing about "some of the worst things that have happened to you". It was in this category where Ryan's cry was finally heard. He wrote, "4th grade" then "massive humiliations that I don't want to mention here". What? Fourth grade? There were no cries of help, no screams of injustices, no tears of pain. How did I, his mother, his protector, his translator of cries, not know Ryan had suffered "massive humiliations"?

After a bit of prompting, Ryan admitted that a boy in his grade had been bullying him for years. I felt like someone kicked me in the stomach. I truly thought I might throw up directly on his writing assignment, which would have lead to one more example for my poor boy to put in the category, "some of the worst things that have ever happened to you". I had my suspicions about this boy, in my gut I knew something was going on, but, Ryan did not cry, he did not scream, he did not wail so how could I interpret silence? I was terrified, that somehow, when Ryan needed me most, our connection, the line from his heart to mine, had been disrupted.

As I tried to go back and recall signs of what I had been missing, I wondered, was it my good old bullying friend Denial whispering in my ear, "He's fine, there would be signs if he was being bullied." the reason that I didn't hear Ryan's cries? What parent wants to believe their child is being harassed, taunted and made to feel badly about himself? Even with Denial's influence, I followed my gut and I still warned Ryan's teachers, his principal and his guidance counselor to be on alert for this bully. They watched out for problems, they listened for cries, they looked for tears, yet they were as blinded by bullying as I was. Ryan saw it, he heard it and what's worse, he felt it, yet, Ryan never cried. He never told Mommy to kiss it and make it better. So I didn't.

When I asked Ryan why he didn't tell me, or tell one of his teachers, he said, "I couldn't find my words". Along with my dinner contents, the blood from my heart spilled over onto Ryan's writing assignment. Ryan's words, along with his pain, were buried deep inside his AWEsome brain and he wasn't sure how to get the words out. Along with processing his pain differently, autism causes Ryan to process his feelings and his language differently. It's hard for him to put words to feelings, so instead of trying, instead of crying, he suffered in silence. A silence that even Mommy's kiss couldn't break through.

I have cried more tears than I can count this week and have gone through a range of emotions...heartache, anger, guilt, shame....feelings that all stem back to, Mommy failed to protect him and could not kiss it and make it better. As easy as it would be to blame myself, blame the school, and even blame Ryan for not telling, I blame no one other than the bully, with a little bit of blame directed toward the bully's parents.

Bullies are sneaky. Bullies are manipulative. Bullies prey on those they perceive as weak. Bullies are nice to their victims in front of school personnel, in front of students who will "tell" and even in front of the victim"s mother. The bully hides in the shadows where no one is looking, where no one can hear the cries of his victims.

The irony for you bully, is that my son is not weak. Despite your name calling, your teasing, your harassment, my son has thrived. My son has reached goals you could only ever dream of reaching. My son has more accomplishments under his belt than mean names that you shamelessly carry under yours. You did not win bully. You will never win.

In the middle of my angst this week, one of my BFF's said, "One day (insert bully's name here) will be washing Ryan's Mercedes". In that moment, it felt good to picture this bully washing the rims of Ryan's shiny new Benz, while Ryan sat inside looking down at the boy who no longer posed any kind of threat, feeling like justice had finally been served. The moment of gleeful retribution quickly passed though because Ryan does not have a Mercedes today.

Today, Ryan is not worrying about who will wash his imaginary car or what he will be when he grows up or what prison the bully may wind up in, Ryan just wants to go to school, to learn about the metric system and algebraic equations, and to continue singing his heart out in a safe place free of bullies. In a place where Ryan feels valued, a place where Ryan feels pride, a place where Ryan feels special, a place where Ryan feels protected.

With the range of emotions that hit you as a mother when they place that squishy, funny looking creature on your chest seconds after they enter the world, the strongest of these emotions is the instinct to protect. Regardless of how smooshy and wrinkly that new baby looks, and how very briefly you have known him, you know that you would do anything to protect him, but, sometimes we can't always be there to kiss it and make it better. Sometimes we can't be there to kiss the scraped knee at recess, to hug a broken heart sitting alone in a college dorm room, or to call out the bully in the classroom, and to a mother, this inability to protect is anguishing. The pain of your silently suffering child makes the pain of childbirth feel as mild as a scraped knee. It is when we can't kiss it and make it better that we mother's need an epidural to ease our pain.

Yes, I will probably always suffer from the guilt of not hearing my son's silent cries, for not listening more with my heart than with me ears. I will wonder if autism stood in Ryan's way, if autism made it hard for Ryan to "find his words" and to find his cry. As Ryan continues to grow and mature, I may not always be able to kiss it and make it better, that is the sad reality for all parents. However, just like a newborn baby knows that even if you don't hear their cries at first, eventually you will be there to pick them up, to soothe them, to hold them, and to kiss it and make it better.

I take comfort in knowing that no matter what was happening in the classroom, on the playground and in the hallways, Ryan knew that when he got home, when he made it safely to my arms, then, at that time, he felt safe, he felt happy, he felt loved. Ryan knew that even if I wasn't "there", eventually, I would be, and Mommy would kiss it and make it better, without him ever needing to utter a word.

Autism may sometimes disrupt the line of communication between Ryan and me, making it harder for me to hear him, but, that disruption doesn't make our line, our connection, or the message Ryan is conveying any weaker. Ryan's difficulty with expressing himself just makes me appreciate the words, the cries and even the banshee wails all the more because I know how hard he worked to"find his words" which makes the line from my heart to his, even stronger.

In this instance, although my heart may ache and lead me to believe that my connection with Ryan was weak, and that I failed him, my brain knows our connection was strong and even though I didn't "hear" him, the love, support, and encouragement Ryan felt at home, helped him prevail. The only thing weak here, is the bully and his meager, failed attempt to keep my son from succeeding.

Ryan is not weak, Ryan is strong. Strong enough to know that even though this bully's teasing and words may have caused Ryan "massive humiliations", when he was in 4th grade, and even though the bully still makes Ryan feel "uncomfortable" today, Ryan now believes in himself, not in the empty words of a bully. I believe going forward, it will be Ryan who will find his words and it will be the bully that will be at a loss for words, for names, for taunts and the bully will find himself cast out of the shadows. And we all know, that without the shadows, the bully's words, his actions, and sometimes even the bully himself, amount to nothing.

As for my friend's glimpse into Ryan's Mercedes driving future, and the bully's soap and bucket car washing future, well, all I can say is, I hope Ryan picks a white or a black Mercedes because those two colors are very, very, difficult to clean and Ryan is incredibly meticulous.

Protecting him from bees, bugs and bullies, but, mostly giving him the confidence to protect himself.

I try to be a "cool" mom, you know, a loving mom who does just the right amount of nagging that makes you a responsible parent, but, not over the top nagging that makes your kids think you are lame. I try to be the kind of mom that makes our house the hang out for all my kids' friends because, "Kyle's mom is so chill" (and because I have a sweet tooth like a child and my pantry is living proof of this fact). The kind of mom that my mom was when I was growing up (and of course still is today), with the added bonus of trying to be cool on social media. I am told by my teenage son that in the world of social media where I have mistakenly and humiliatingly crossed into his web universe, that I fail miserably in the Cool Mom Department. And if there is anyone who is going to tweet that you are without a doubt the most embarrassing mother in the world of social media, it's going to be your 16 year old, know it all, teenage son. #epicfail

I have been told, by my horribly embarrassed teenage son, that we "old heads" have ruined Facebook for the youngins (no one who is anyone over the age of 14 has an "active" Facebook account) and now, even worse, we over the hill, inept, social media blunderers are hashtagging on Facebook. #OMG

For those who may be even lamer than me, a hashtag (#) originally began on Twitter then went to Instagram and it is a way to sort or categorize your tweets and pics so that other people who search under that hashtag can find similar tweets, pics and comments. For example, #embarassingmoms could be a hashtag on my son's Twitter account that would follow a comment something like this, "Mom's #'ing on FB again WTH?" and then his followers may share a similar horrific mother story with the same #embarassingmoms.

Until recently, us old heads using a hashtag on Facebook was just for fun (or embarrassment) because there was no direct link from one hashtag to the next. Facebook changed that, but, according to teenagers, it's still not an acceptable hashtag outlet. In fact, when you put "hashtagging on Facebook" in your search engine, the second search title that comes up is "hashtagging on Facebook is stupid", which I'm sure was written by a horribly mortified teenager. #ohwell

According to my social media extraordinaire son, one of the biggest hashtag Facebook blunders, is #TBT. For you lame-o's, #TBT stands for Throwback Thursday, a day when people post pics of days gone by on Instagram not on Facebook, yet, every Thursday morning, I wake up to my Friends on Facebook sporting big puffy sleeves and even bigger puffier hair. Most of these photos are pictures with large groups of friends from the high school or college era. I AWEnestly love seeing these photos because they do indeed throw me back to a different time, a time when I was young, carefree, responsibility free and worry free (with the exception of my obsessive fretting over Aqua Net Super Strong Hold Hair Spray's ability to keep my hair puffy until 2AM). Ahhh....yes, the good old days. There are, however, some friends and some times, you don't want to throw back to, no matter how good the photo may look and how many Likes, Comments or Retweets you get.

Ironically, it was last Thursday, that I had a #TBT moment, and it wasn't pretty. I agreed to help out with Ryan's end of the year Honors Party in Middle School. Yeah, I know, the fact that my son made the honor roll for the first three marking periods and was not only invited to attend, but, WANTED to attend, should have made it a phenomenal Thursday, throwback or not, but, old #TBT habits die hard. If someone would have snapped a photo of me last Thursday, waiting for the kids to be dismissed to the party, they would have seen the same woman (albeit a bit older) as the woman in this photo, smiling, happy, on the outside, but, a worried, hot mess on the inside. Yes, last Thursday, as I waited to collect the Honors Party Invitations for the invited attendees, I was thrown back with my old friends Denial and Clueless flanked on either side of me, but, my newer, much more fun to be around friend, Hope, was giving them both a nonchalant elbow shot as I waited and watched for Ryan to appear.

My throwback was more of a scary, "must have done some brain damage from spraying all the Aqua Net, oh please don't make me relive it again", flashback. As I waited for my 95 pound, almost teenage son to appear, in my throwback mind, I kept seeing an angry, scared, overwhelmed, lost 4 year old boy camouflaged among the wood chips, playing alone under the sliding board at daycare. My palms became sweaty, I felt my heart rate pulsating to the sound of Pharrell Williams annoying Happy song being played by the DJ and all I could think was, if Pharell Williams entered this room right now, I would stuff an Honors Invitation in his big hat then shove it down his Happy throat. I was anything, but, Happy, I was more like Neurotically Nauseous (maybe I should write a song). I quickly forgot about my new friend Hope and was immediately back in my old inner circle with Denial and Clueless, praying, bartering, and willing my son, not to walk into that commons area alone. All the years I spent accepting that Ryan is happy being just who he is, disappeared as quickly as a trending hashtag. #oldnews

As I continued to watch and wait, unaware of the fact that I was literally holding my breath, I found myself whispering to Hope, "Maybe Ryan will round the corner and come through the doors with a friend", while acknowledging to both Denial and Clueless, "Ryan will not only probably be alone, he will probably be the last one to show up". As I stood there transfixed between the present and #TBT, I watched the non-stop streams of kids flowing through the hallways like salmon fighting to get upstream, literally pushing and plowing their way through the masses. I watched as the cool kids in their high black socks and trendy clothes moved together in packs like a group of hungry wolves, just waiting to take a bite out of the vulnerable kids who walked alone wearing high white socks and the same five shirts all school year long. I watched, I trembled, and I waited. "He will be last and he will be alone and that's ok" was ongoing, repetitive, mumbling mantra.

Then just when my new friend Hope was ready to go hang out with some of the more optimistic, cool moms, my boy rounded the corner, in the middle of the pack, with no bite marks, wearing his high white socks, smiling, laughing and walking with, dare I say it....a friend. Ryan and his friend approached me with their Honors Party Invitation, and I got that very happy, yet trying not to smile grin from my boy and a nice, "Hello Ryan's mom!" from Ryan's friend. Ryan wasn't 4 years old anymore. He wasn't angry, he wasn't scared, he wasn't overwhelmed, he wasn't lost, and just like that annoyingly joyful Pharrell Williams predicted, Ryan was Happy and therefore, so was I. Would I have been less happy if Ryan rounded that corner alone, but, still smiling and happy while Hope quickly left my side for some other cooler mom, AWEnestly, yes, I would have, because no matter how hard I try not to project my version of happy onto Ryan, sometimes, I still do. #pharrellandme

Any of my #TBT photos that I would post onto Facebook, horrifying my social media savvy son, would show me surrounded by a group of friends, no matter how far back I would throw the photo. I always found myself in a group, mostly because I loved hanging out with my friends, but, also because being part of a group was how I identified myself. I was a salmon. Being in the middle of gang of friends for me, was, and sometimes still is, easier than being alone. Ryan is quietly confident in who he is and yes, autism makes having friends difficult, so sometimes being alone is preferred, because for Ryan, being alone beats swimming up stream with a bunch of pushy, obnoxious, teenage salmon. For Ryan, traveling his journey in a pack of wolves or a school of fish is not his thing, for Ryan, sometimes, having just one friend to happily script away with, is all he needs. #1isallyouneed

As hard as I try to be a "cool mom", I'm pretty sure Ryan's poor friend probably did not think there was anything cool about me as I followed them around smiling like some weirdo, taking photos, but, not posting them (well, not all of them) on Instagram with a cool hashtag like #bitemeautism or #dumpeddenial or #justbeyou. As I stalked, I mean, watched, Ryan and his friend walk around, scripting the latest Gumball episode together, I stood alone with no friends....not Hope...not Denial....and not Clueless, yet, I did not, for one second, feel the least bit lonely. Students, teachers and parents milled around me, but, I didn't try to hide my falling tears. I embraced my joy as my heart filled with pride while I watched in AWE the #TBT moment transport Ryan and me to the present.

Some days I'm cool, some days, I'm not, but, one thing we lame "old heads" have over these youngins is the wisdom that comes with age. We recognize that there are moments that don't need a #, a tweet, a post, or a comment. Such wisdom may not make us cool, hip, trendy or keep us from humiliating our children, but, our old head knowledge enables us to see that there are some moments that really are better experienced alone, because no one who "follows" you, "friends" you, or "tweets" you, can fully comprehend the significance of a moment, of that moment, except, YOU. #mymoment

Ryan just chilling with his friends (one is hidden to protect his privacy).

Author

Definition of Awe:"a mixed emotion of reverence, respect, dread and wonder inspired by authority, genius, great beauty, sublimity or might." Yep, someone should have consulted a mom before spelling AWEtis﻿m.